


Vintage: Warden Surana. In death, sacrifice.

by supernovainparadise



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Diary/Journal, Gen, Grey Warden Joining, Grey Warden Secrets, Hardened Alistair (Dragon Age), He's not doing so well here, M/M, Mutual Pining, Old Gods (Dragon Age), Surana (Dragon Age) has Issues, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25009582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernovainparadise/pseuds/supernovainparadise
Summary: There is a note scribbled in messy writing on the inside of the front cover...This journal is the property of Wren Surana! Don't read! That means you, Jowan!
Relationships: Alistair & Wynne (Dragon Age), Alistair/Male Surana (Dragon Age), Alistair/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford/Male Surana, Greagoir & Male Surana (Dragon Age), Jowan & Male Surana (Dragon Age), Loghain Mac Tir & Warden, Morrigan & Male Surana (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

_The handwriting in the beginning of the first journal is sloppy, and over large, clearly written by a child. However, the language used suggests that this child is well read for their age._

**2 Firstfall 9:20 Dragon**

Irving gave me this journal as a Saturnalia gift. He says that a lot of mages use journals; that it helps them keep their thoughts in order, so they aren't tempted by demons. I asked him where I should start since I'd never written a journal before, and he said to start at the beginning. I asked him "at the beginning of what?" he said "the beginning of _you,_ Wren."

So here goes!

My name is Wren Surana, and I am 8 years old. I've never been outside of the circle tower, and I think I might have been born in a place called Denerim. I know I was probably born here, in Fereldan that is.

Irving says that Knight-Captain Greagoir was handed me as an infant, by the confused ferryman, who found me in his boat one morning. In my blankets was a little letter, with the day I was born (15 Harvestmere 9:12 Dragon) and my name, which I've already said. I grew up in the circle tower, with the children of the mages. There were not very many of us. Just me, a girl called Zeya, and Jowan. Zeya's parents were both mages, and they had both been transferred from the Fereldan Circle somewhere else. Jowan's parents are dead. He doesn't seem sad about it, but I guess I'm not sad about my parents either.

I can hear the bells at the top of the tower, which means it's dinner time. I hope it's not cabbage stew again.


	2. Chapter 2

_The text at the beginning of this journal is much cleaner than the first. The language has expanded with the writer's knowledge._

**9 Justinian 9:30 Dragon**

I've heard the senior enchanters whispering when I walk by. They think that I cannot hear them, but I can. They are louder than they think, and my hearing better than they assume. They are discussing my harrowing, and while some seem confident, others seemed concerned.

If they all seemed in agreement, it would make the upcoming test seem less, well, harrowing.

Zeya went in for her Harrowing a week ago... and never came back. I asked Irving why she had vanished, and he merely shook his head and told me she had failed. I knew what he meant, and so I didn't ask anything else. I was too scared to, and these old fears are resurfacing as my own harrowing draws closer by the hour. Jowan's been getting apprehensive as well; of all the apprentices our age in the tower, he is the most afraid of what is to come, especially with Zeya now gone. They hadn't ever been particularly close but it was clear that her death was troubling him.

He had yet to say anything specific to me, but having known him my entire life, I feel confident in my guesses about his behavior. And, okay, maybe I used him as a focus during my last scrying lesson, but the point still stands. He's terrified of what is to come. And yet, he is terrified of the alternative that comes with being unable to face his Harrowing; becoming Tranquil. I cannot blame him for that; even having known some of them for what feels like ages, they are still unnerving. Mages, who have been cut off from the fade, from themselves. A fate far worse than death, at least in my opinion.

My Harrowing aside, First-Enchanter Irving seems to be proud of how my studies are progressing. He says that I show particular skill in elemental and primal magic, that of cold specifically, and an impressive mastery of spirit magic, oft seen as the most important but most difficult school of magic. He says that my other skills are progressing at the proper pace as well. He did, however, imply that my creation and healing magic was falling behind. That's fine by me; leave the healing to the other mages. 

Beyond the typical study of magic, on the other hand, I've noticed something else. One of the newly knighted templars, Cullen, seems to have his eyes on me. I wonder why; we've always been on friendly terms, though I've known him a short period of time compared to many of my fellow mages. Does he suspect I'm up to something? I certainly hope not, as I've worked hard to maintain a positive view within the eyes of the templars. I think Greagoir might not actually dislike me!

I can see Jowan giving me his puppy dog eyes over the top of my journal, which usually means he wants my help for something. Best not to keep him waiting, lest he gets mopey on me. Till tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

_There is a slight amount of water damage on this page, and a few behind it, caused by small drops of water saturating the page._

**11 Justinian 9:30 Dragon**

A terrible storm shakes the windows today. The sky has been black since early this morning, and it is near impossible to tell the exact passage of time. Some of the younger apprentices and mage children are afraid of the storms, and have been cowering beneath their bedsheets, lured out only with gentle tales and songs. Some of the mages seem a little uncomfortable, but some absolutely revel in the storm. I can see why; the lightning crackles across the veil, and across our skin, practically begging to be pulled upon. If the storm was gentler, a select few apprentices and mages may be allowed into the observatory to practice their skills under the watchful gazes of the Enchanters. But the storm is harsh, and the wind and rain throw themselves against the window in an attempt to break into the tower.

From my current perch by the window, which I have left open, I can see part of the courtyard. It is flooded with mud, and the singular tree is being torn to shreds. I am afraid that it will fall. But the sound of the rain and rumbling of the thunder make for good background noise when I study, and help me focus.

If some of the mages seem uncertain, it is nothing compared to the apprehension of the templars. They are always on high alert in poor weather, terrified that we will leash the powers of nature and use it to break the tower to stones and rubble. I think that they may sometimes forget that we live here too, and even if we were to survive such a thing, we would all be hunted down and killed. Whatever is left of the circle will be annulled, and rebuilt.

But that's not all. Irving is on high alert as well; he seemed distracted during our lessons this morning. When I inquired as to why, he merely shook his head and muttered something about the Fade. I'm hoping it doesn't have anything to do with my Harrowing, which I am certain now draws near. I hope that the weather doesn't influence the world beyond the veil, that it doesn't draw the attention of demons. I also hope that my harrowing has nothing to do with demons, but from the whispers I've caught between the older mages, I may just be out of luck.

And if I'm out of luck, well... I hate to say it, but Jowan likely is as well. He's skilled, but he's flighty and nervous. While he has the ability in magic, and strong ones at that, he is terrified of what he can do, and even more terrified of what it means if he _can't_ do magic. I worry for him, though I will not tell him that. I fear that when the time inevitably comes for Jowan's own Harrowing, he will fall.


	4. Chapter 4

_Several of the early lines have been scribbled out and made illegible in what appears to be frustration._

**Justinian ~~11 12~~ THIRTEENTH 9:30 Dragon**

According to Jowan, I have been asleep for over a day. A FULL. DAY. I can only imagine how close the Templars came to simply stabbing me and being done with it, but Irving must've held them off. Or maybe they can only attack if the mage becomes possessed? I can only hope Mouse, no, the Pride Demon, was wrong in his assumption that if you take too much time the Templars dispose of you.

I suppose I should write down what happened. Keep my thoughts in order and all that?

Mere hours after my last journal entry, as the storm began to wane, First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Greagoir escorted me to the observatory. In the middle was a bowl filled to the brim with lyrium, and it didn't take me long to figure out what, exactly, I was doing there. This was clearly my harrowing. My test was being sent into the fade, where a demon would await me. It was my job to avoid this demon's trickery and make out of the Fade whole, neither tranquilized nor possessed. And so, I shoved the largest dose of Lyrium I had ever taken down my throat and swiftly passed out. There's no bump on my head, so I assume someone caught me.

Is it wrong of me to hope that it was Knight Cullen?

Anyways, attractive Templars aside (Jowan insists Cullen is, at best, merely cute, but I digress), I woke up in the fade. Like, actually in the fade. Irving calls it a "waking dream", as I was fully aware and in control. It was odd. In a way, I felt like I had some sway over the place but yet I could feel something tugging me, though I could not place it. I began to make my way towards the sensation, and naturally, only a few paces in I was attacked by a wisp.

It was relatively easy to defeat; a simple arcane bolt and it fell. It wasn't a full-fledged spirit, but I had no doubt that there were stronger enemies awaiting me than merely one wisp... Irving didn't find me that incapable, I hoped. As I continued to follow the tugging sensations, I made a... discovery. A talking mouse, who immediately began to mope about how he had been left forever in the fade by the circle, his body killed by the templars long ago. This... mouse, as he called himself actually, told me that the same fate awaited me and that I was already taking too long. Something about that nagged at the back of the brain, and I insisted I had only been in for a few minutes at most. Mouse simply sighed, but agreed to assist me on my journey, but not before briefly revealing himself as a human mage.

You thought the talking mouse/mage was strange? It gets weirder. It seemed that demons and spirits in this part of the fade took the form of aggressive wolves, who were very interested in sneaking a bite of mage-flesh. They didn't get it, but they did a mouthful of fire! As if the demon wolves and Mouse weren't enough... Up the hill, a short way away from a large circle of fire Mouse advised me to avoid if I was not ready to face the demon within, was a different spirit. A spirit who called himself "Valor".

This spirit bemoaned the test set for me, claiming it was cowardly and that it should be a test of magic and steel instead. Of course, I was barely listening, as I had become focused on the powerful arsenal of weapons behind the spirit. One of the staves would have me well prepared to fight this demon ahead... Of course, Valor insisted I fight him for it, but with some clever phrasing, I managed to come away with the staff in hand and headed further up the hill.

Which reminds me, can you refer to terrain in the Fade the same way you do here? Is it even truly a hill?

Either way, a large and deadly looking creature snoozed atop it, barely opening an eye at my arrival. It looked to be a bear, but from it's monstrous appearance alone, I quickly realized it was a demon. Was this what I was to face?

The demon merely looked at me and... smiled? "Ah, good, dinner has brought itself to me..." It said, but made no move to get up.

Oh boy. A sloth demon.

Mouse insisted we leave, but sensing an oppurtunity, I told Sloth that I would not waste anymore of it's time or distrub it's rest... Provided it gave me a leg up against the demon I was to face. It agreed, on the counter that I would answer some riddles.

Easy.

In return, Mouse could now turn into a bear and... this is starting to get confusing. At any rate, we made our way to fight the demon, one of Rage, which was quickly destroyed. Too quickly. Mouse insisted I was strong, and that I should take him out of the fade with me and...

Ah. Of course.

Turns out, Mouse was a pride demon. Waiting for me to fall into his little trap so that he could escape the fade at my own expense. 

At any rate, I turned him down and was shook awake by Jowan some time after. Speaking of Jowan, surprise surprise, he insists that there is something he would like to show me. Oh, and the First Enchanter would like to see me.

Very well, I'll leave my recollection for another time. Till tomorrow, perhaps.


	5. Chapter 5

_The pages are now slightly crooked, as though bent from being hastily shoved away. On this page, there is fresh water damage, but in lesser quantity to the damage from the storm, as though only a few drops of water landed on the page._

**15 Justinian 9:30 Dragon**

I hate him. I really, truly hate him. I don't understand how he could do this to me; give me hours of his life, a constant companion, only to turn his back on everything we've ever been taught, everything we've been climbing towards, and throw it all away. And for what? Power? Knowledge? Love or lust? I don't know. I don't think I'll ever know why or how Jowan turned to blood magic. But it doesn't matter; I aided him. I helped him destroy his phylactery, and now he has escaped the circle and I am the one responsible, since Jowan is nowhere to be found, difficult to track even with his blood coating the templars. The phylacteries were unique in their abilities, in their ways of tracking and magic. Jowan's blood alone will not be enough to find him.

I think a small part of me still wants him to getaway. Being killed by the Templars or made Tranquil or, worst of all, sent to Aeonar. It's a miracle that wasn't the fate that awaited me. I was saved by a good deal of luck and a particular name; Warden-Commander Duncan. In order to save me from the mage's prison, he was forced to conscript me into the wardens, and we left very swiftly afterward.

I'm writing this by the light of his fire now, and I hope my handwriting isn't too shaky. I can't hold back the tears any longer; during the day I was distracted by the sound of the birds, the rustling of the leaves on the trees, and the sheer amount of greenery outside of the circle. We've found a place to camp alongside the Imperial Highway, a massive road of ancient stone, built by the Imperium. I never thought I'd see it in person, but now, with the cloak of the night around me, my thoughts flicker back to the circle tower. To Jowan and his paramour, Lily, to First-Enchanter Irving and even Knight-Commander Greagoir. I am most surprised to be thinking of him, but looking back, there were no doubt much worse men to lead the templars.

Don't take my admiration of Greagoir as any sort of excuse for the behavior of many of the templars. Greagoir is a good man, and he commands respect among his men for good reason. I could always tell that he had some fondness for the mages, a fondness he was no doubt forced to keep buried. I always felt that he was a sort of fatherly figure growing up, both before and after I came into my magic. 

Which reminds me of a story.

Briefly, only weeks before my magic became obvious, I had been reminiscing on what would happen to me once I reached a certain age and could no longer stay at the circle. I was only seven at the time, and yet many concerns weighed heavily on my little mind. As an elf, I couldn't be trained as a templar, nor could I join the chantry as anything more than a servant. I wouldn't be allowed to stay in the Circle as a servant either, given that they had the tranquil to serve as such. It meant that once I came of age, I would be sent away. Would I be forced into the alienage? Maybe handed off as a servant to a nobleman. Maybe I would simply be kicked out, and that would be the end of it. Forced to make something of myself in a world I had never seen, with no help.

At the time, Greagoir was merely Knight-Captain, and a fair shade less gray than he is today. He noticed my pouting and decided to take it upon himself to cheer me up. He found a story he thought I might like, one about an Antivan knight and her encounter with a talking mouse. It worked, and he got me to divulge my fears. I remember him smiling, and telling me that he would do everything he could to make sure I had the best luck out there. For a few brief, wonderful weeks, he began to train me as a templar. Of course, before that training could come to any sort of fruition, I came into my magic and that was that. The circle, for the rest of my life.

After that, I noticed that he grew distant. But there was always a certain fondness there, like a grumpy sort of uncle. 

The fire is growing low, and I am running short on ink. ~~I don't want to bother Duncan for any, so I'll have to wait until we arrive at Ostagar to get more.~~ Hopefully, our journey will be swift. Duncan says we will reach a village called Lothering in the morning, and spend the day stocking up on supplies and that we'll likely spend the night in the local tavern.

I've never been in a tavern before.


End file.
